


The Unbearable Feeling of Being Whole

by 9_of_Clubs



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Bittersweet, Future Fic, Loneliness, Longing, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 09:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1684091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9_of_Clubs/pseuds/9_of_Clubs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bonearenaofmyskull made a post on Tumblr suggesting Will and Hannibal's mind palaces being in the same place, a place where they could find each other, and this is what happened. </p><p>There’s a river just outside Lecter Castle, where the swans used to float, and Mischa clapped her fat hands together, running for them and the water. The trees have grown wild on either side of it now, grown tall and old, their autumn leaves drifting down silently into the current. He wonders idly, for just one moment, as it catches his eye, if there are fish in its depths, then turns away from the ghosts that call him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unbearable Feeling of Being Whole

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Невыносимое чувство целостности](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3707167) by [Streichholz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Streichholz/pseuds/Streichholz)



Years pass.

There’s a river just outside Lecter Castle, where the swans used to float, and Mischa clapped her fat hands together, running for them and the water. The trees have grown wild on either side of it now, grown tall and old, their autumn leaves drifting down silently into the current. He muses idly, for just one moment, as it catches his eye, if there are fish in its depths, then turns away from the ghosts that call him.

Inside, it is as he remembers, more or less, only ruinous and abandoned, and so, so different from the fireplace lit halls that populate some of his memory palace, from the carefully tidy rooms his mother kept, and his rows and rows of neat books lining the shelves. He doesn’t know why he’s come exactly, there is nothing for him here, only that to visit a part of himself, of his mind, that is still physical seemed suddenly appealing. A part of his past he can grasp out and clutch, unlike so much of it, burned away - kept only in his memories. He doesn’t regret, Hannibal Lecter, but often he longs. His fingers press along the walls as he walks from room to room, gathering details for a second rendition of his one time home, feet carrying him aimlessly this way and that, until he finds himself outside again, through a side door that brings the river back into view.

He wonders what Clarice would say if he suggested they attempt fishing.

“You know.” There’s a voice that blends into his musings, and for a heartbeat, he scarcely understands that it’s real. “My river never was really anywhere, the one I used to visit in my dreams, but if I had to go back there.” He doesn’t turn his head, doesn’t look, hears the thrum of amusement in the familiar voice, and beneath that the bittersweet longing that he tastes so often on his own lips. “I think I’d choose here.”

There’s a hand on his shoulder as he closes his eyes and inhales, lets the flood of sensations overwhelm him, Will smells of nothing and everything now, free of the terrible cologne that used to cling to him, soap and sweat adorn him instead, nature, wood and trees and stream. He smells like this land, like his home. His fingers are calloused around the fabric of Hannibal’s shirt, his voice rough, Hannibal has a sudden overwhelming desire to know how he tastes.

“Do you still live in your mind?” A step closer, and Hannibal only stands still and breathes, collects enough to sustain him should this disappear, or is it all only his imaginings? “If so, I guess that makes us neighbors.”

Finally, he lets his eyes slit open, lets the visual impact him with the rest, and turns his head to Will. “I should prefer.” He manages to say, as their eyes meet, as Will steals his breath and sets his heart racing. “To no longer have to do so, but some things.” He pauses, his own hand reaching out, but he stops himself. “are regrettably out of my reach and I cannot find them elsewhere.”

Will nods, the lines of his scarred face tightening a bit as he smiles a quiet smile, but he is not ugly, Hannibal decides, Will could never be ugly.

“A little bird suggested to me.” There’s a new glint now, Hannibal catalogs greedily, one of slight mischief, of self pride. “that if I stayed still here for long enough you’d come looking.” He shifts and his fingers shift with him, up to Hannibal’s cheek, holding, touching, he can’t stop the harsh intake of breath when Will touches him, when their skin finally meets. “So I did, so you found me, in this place that is both mine and yours now, in our minds.” The finger stroke lightly and Will tilts his head. ”Do you think that place could form in the spaces of our lives?”

He feels in his heart the acute pain that he felt that night so long ago, at the thought of everything they might have had, of the life he had painstakingly created for them and Will had torn asunder. Mischa had not reformed, Abigail was not fated for them, but now he has Clarice and and an emptiness that calls out for filling.

“You were never a teacup.” He murmurs as he bends to press his forehead to Will’s, the light wind that still tastes of summer brushing their skin. “You have formed your space already and it is yours to reclaim.”

Will kisses him lightly, a benediction, a union, the unbearable feeling of being whole.

“Then I claim it.”


End file.
